Part 8 (1/2)

”Well, I will enjoy it myself,” he said, and with the utmost a.s.surance stepped into the stern; while d'Amoreau and Grancey chuckled and looked at each other and Germain. The latter smiled and rowed down the lake.

On the other side was a clearing in the grove, where a stone seat was placed near the bank. Here Lecour drew to sh.o.r.e, and handed out Cyrene.

The two Guardsmen were watching him closely. When Jude rose from the stem seat he felt a sudden strong turn given to the boat. He clutched the air, it did not save him; one black silk leg kicked up, and he disappeared under the water.

The face of Cyrene, who had seated herself on the stone bench, was for a moment one of alarm.

The depth was not, however, above the Abbe's waist, and when he rose his look of furious misery was too comical for any pity. The water streamed in a cataract from his wig over his elongated countenance and ruined clothes. He had screwed his face into the black slime of the bottom; it was now besides distorted with his efforts to breathe, and he unconsciously held up his blackened hands in the att.i.tude of blessing.

The whole party could not contain their laughter. D'Amoreau, Grancey, and the other Guardsmen sent up continuous roars on roars from their boats. The Prince smiled; de Bailleul's efforts to control himself were ineffectual; the ladies all t.i.ttered, except Madame, who stood on sh.o.r.e, and even the considerate Cyrene could restrain herself no longer, but turned her head from the moving appeal of the unfortunate figure before her, and gave way to a silvery chime of undiluted enjoyment.

”Hush, cousin,” cried the Princess de Poix, stilted as ever; ”such a sad accident.”

”Repentigny, by Castor and Pollux,” swore d'Amoreau at the first moment of their meeting in private, ”here are not five louis, but twenty. You were made for a Marshal of France.”

”Dominique,” Germain called out, ”spend this with your fellows” (by instinct he knew it was part of his _role_ to be lavish), ”and tell them to drink to that meddlesome blackleg.”

”In cold water,” d'Amoreau added.

CHAPTER IX

A PHILOSOPHER BEHIND HORSE-PISTOLS

The procession of carriages containing the guests rolled back to the Palace through the forest.

The carriage of the Prince came last and in it sat the Prince and Princess, Cyrene and Jude, while Lecour rode alongside for some miles.

How more and more he dreaded the revelation of his humble birth. He said his adieux at length and turned back with the keenest misery in his breast he had ever felt--such misery indeed that after a little he could not resist retracing his route.

The Prince's coach meanwhile had lagged behind the others at a point where the road cut through a small gorge. His Excellency was giving the ladies an account and history of the Chevalier's wounds, when in the middle of it the horses stopped with a jerk. A commotion without any words appeared to be going on outside. The Prince put his head out and found himself looking into the barrels of a horse-pistol, while a masked man of heavy build summoned him to be quiet. He saw moreover nine or ten half-naked fellows also disguised in rude masks, posted about, with muskets and pistols pointed at the grooms and himself. The Princess fell in a faint. The Abbe threw himself under the seat. Such scenes were being enacted every day on the highroads in that lumbering old handmade century.

The head of the man who had charge of the Prince was, as it were, thatched with a torn hat and his black hair straggled past his mask in tufts down to his shoulders.

”Purses!” he growled harshly, putting his head in at the window.

”Cut-throat!” cried the Prince. ”You shall swing for this as sure as there is a Lieutenant of Police in Paris.”

The big man's answer was a ferocious ”Enough!”

And as his black finger twitched threateningly upon the trigger, Cyrene laid her restraining hand on her cousin's arm. She took out her purse with her other hand and pa.s.sed it to the man. She promptly also pulled out that of the Princess. The Prince handed his own to her and it was pa.s.sed over with that of his wife.

”Watches!” was the next order.

With the same coolness she pa.s.sed these likewise.

He scowled next at the brooch Cyrene wore at her neck.

”Give me that,” he commanded. She stopped and said firmly--